


you say 'forget it' but what if i can't

by sugarrushgay



Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, This is the longest thing I've ever written, steven is a fucking wreck and andrew is enamoured from the beginning, the whole gang is here but they don't have Huge Speaking Parts per se so im not tagging them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarrushgay/pseuds/sugarrushgay
Summary: When it comes to fight or flight, Steven has always been a freezer.





	you say 'forget it' but what if i can't

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this entire thing in One single sitting and didn't read it through so if it sucks that is entirely my fault for being lazy AND impatient. killer combo!

Andrew is beginning to feel the oncoming caffeine crash after 72 hours of not sleeping, going strong on sheer determination and coffee by the pint. His temples throb, insufferable reminder of the migraine he knows is bound to hit; _Anytime now_. He remembers reading somewhere that the position of the pain in your skull denoted exactly the source of the headache – dehydration or lack of sleep or not eating or stress – and somehow Andrew finds it in himself to laugh because it’s all of the above, he checks all the boxes, but it’s hollow and bitter and lifeless and aimed at no one. He can tell he’s not going to love today, at all. He’s walking with barely any purpose to the diner near the dorms, hoping to god it’s not a busy day. He’s not gonna lie – he’s in no fucking mood to see even a single other human being, but he has to finish this fucking paper and he has to finish it yesterday, and somehow going back to his room with his temptress of a bed seems unideal for that. _Another day another fucking term paper,_ he thinks and shoulders his way through the narrow swinging glass doors of the cosy diner and finds his way to an empty booth. The place is pleasant, with fake red leather upholstery on the seats and a classic black and white checkered floor. It’s nice, and it always smells like pancakes, which usually serves as a comfort – usually; meaning when Andrew is _not_ operating on a hollow stomach and praying his immune system doesn’t implode from exhaustion.

He’s seated comfortably and shakes his mind from that realisation as soon as it comes – comfort is now his enemy, comfort equals bad, very very bad, because comfort means he might doze off and that would be the end of him entirely. Remind him again why he wanted to major in english? He hates his life. He slides his laptop out of its bag and onto the table in front of him with mechanic movements, unthinking, and cracks his knuckles. Time to crank out 8+ pages of bullshit on the Elizabethans. He wonders if he can get away with just writing the sentence _“Christopher Marlowe was in gay love with William Shakespeare”_ over and over until he fills the word quota. Somehow he gets the feeling that wouldn’t fly well with the Mr. Heterosexual and Proud who, by stroke of miracle, teaches this particular class – as if any english teacher has ever been straight. And as if he has any right to think that at all. What even is _he_? Andrew chuckles lowly and it’s a mixture of too tired and defeated and absolute delirium. This is not the time to address that issue.

He hears less than he sees the waiter awkwardly shuffling to his table, bony frame crashing into a table, tripping over a shoelace. He swallows a groan, rubs at his temples. He cannot handle this, right now. Pointedly, he stares at his computer screen, doing nothing.

The boy is carrying a pot of coffee and there’s a split second of – call it a hunch – his lungs seizing up in his chest as he realises what’s about to happen, almost watching it out of his own body in slow motion. This can _not_ be happening, not right now. He hears the crash where the guy stumbles over something – the leg of a table, his own fucking feet – and falls all over Andrew, spilling only a bit of coffee (mercifully) on the seat next to him, and on the table, and soaking up a denim patch in Andrew’s jeans. What the fuck. Andrew thinks he might cry, all of this happening too fast for his zombie reflexes, and simultaneously slow enough that he feels like he’s watching footage at quintuple the normal speed. He takes a sharp inhale as he startles up and away from the scalding coffee and the mess of limbs trying to right itself from his lap. _Fuck shit motherfuck. That fucking burns_. he thinks.

“That fucking burns!” he says, and there’s a litany of apologies coming from the man in front of him, and they all sound so sincere, and his voice sounds nothing like what Andrew thought it would – all tender and carressing and infuriatingly honest – although Andrew has no idea why he thought his voice would be any different, seeing as he didn’t even bother to look up at the guy – which he does, now, on instinct. Delayed, entirely, but still on instinct. His own eyebrows are bunched together and he’s breathing too harshly, ready to lay it on thick and angry on this total fucking buffoon who could’ve gotten his fucking laptop wet with coffee and _then_ what would he have done – and then he makes eye contact and his eyebrows untense and his breath dies in his throat and all the fury evaporates like steam out of his entire body, comically fast. The waiter guy’s eyes are impossibly wide and he seems rooted in place, paused mid-action with his half-empty coffee pot and his apron drenched in coffee. Seems like he got the short end of this coffee spilling stick. _Serves him right, too_ – Andrew thinks, and if he had any extra energy in him left he’d huff self-satisfiedly, but he doesn’t, so he just stares at the guy. They must look like total idiots, staring at each other for no apparent reason, both soaked by coffee that is still very very hot.

What seems like entire hours to Andrew (and probably, to coffee boy too) was probably split seconds before the guy springs into action, putting the pot down and grabbing fitfully at napkins nearby to soak up the liquid from the seat and the table.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so so sorry,” he keeps repeating, like a mantra, almost like he’s just saying it for himself, and Andrew can’t really believe a few moments ago he was angry – with _this_ guy, not when he’s so vulnerable and he’s soaked in the most part of the coffee which probably hurts a lot – that shit burned.

“It’s- it’s okay,” he manages, and his own voice is a lot softer than he thought it would be, but there they are. The guy looks up at him, and his eyes are very dark brown and Andrew kind of thinks he looks like he’s about to cry and he really hopes that doesn’t happen because he’s not sure what he would even do.

“It’s not! It’s not, fuck – oh, shit, you even have – your, your _laptop_ , and- fuck,” he keeps grabbing more napkins and Andrew is struck with the awareness that he hasn’t moved an inch in almost a full minute. He shuffles closer to the waiter, nudges a few of the napkins around where most of the coffee has spilled and just looks at the boy with what he hopes is a sympathetic gaze. He can’t be younger than him, he thinks, probably his age, actually. A thought strikes him and every ounce of bad feeling he’d even had left in him vanishes in an instant.

“It really is okay. Customer service is so fucking difficult, especially when you’re dealing with cranky asocial assholes like me-“ he smiles this time – it’s not a full beam or anything, but it’s genuine and it’s enough to get the guy to exhale deeply, and deflate. He smiles back, a bit, and Andrew has to inhale suddenly because – because... because he has no idea why, actually, but it happens, and he kind of wants to live in that feeling a while more.

“I just- It’s my first week, so, I feel like a total loser right now,” he shrugs and it’s so? Andrew doesn’t think there’s a word for it, but it was endearing and it was so vulnerable – and he has to wonder if he’s ever met anyone who was so open and predisposed to being this honest about their feelings with total strangers before. Definitely not. He kind of likes it, a little. It makes his belly twist in a way that lets him know it’s definitely not the starvation. Which, come to think of it – he should do something about since he’s here. His eyes float to the golden name tag on his assailant’s shirt, _Steven L._

“You’re doing great, Steven, right?” Steven nods. “I’m Andrew. Can I order, though? I’m like, starving,” he feels dumb now, because suddenly he’s bashful and he breaks into a smile and he knows he’s showing full dimple now, which is totally ridiculous because this is a diner and he just wants some good brunch so he doesn’t pass out by midday but this clumsy employee has just turned all his thoughts into a formless paste of soft orange feelings and he’s not sure he knows what to do with that knowledge.

“Uh- yeah! Yeah, sure, of course – uh, right, yeah,” he fumbles with his breast pocket, pulling out a tiny notepad, which Andrew realises is the most standard thing someone could do working at a diner but somehow when Steven does it, apron still soaked in coffee, it makes his mind swim a little. _Ah god what the fuck_.

“I mean – I feel a bit like an ass now,” he rubs at the back of his neck. “Like, I hate this power imbalance that like I’m going to order from you after watching you go through emotional turmoil and- I, uh,” he trails off, noticing Steven is staring at him with a wholly different expression than he had on his face moments before. “What?”

“Nothing you – I’m a rambler. You just rambled, it- it’s nice,”

“To be on the receiving end for once?” Steven scowls playfully at that, it makes Andrew feel accomplished, somehow.

“Okay, so what’ll it be,” and the professionalism in his posture and his tone of voice is so strikingly different from the fumbling mess Andrew had witnessed throughout this interaction that it kind of scares him, fucked up and exhausted as he is. He orders the eggs – sunny side up, with bacon ( _lots of bacon, please_ ), and a waffle which he hopes is warm enough to numb his insides and stop them from growling at him, although he doesn’t say that bit aloud. Steven snaps his tiny notepad shut with a pop, like one of those flip phones from 2008 and says Oo-kay in such a cheerful way, and it’s apparent in that moment that that’s not just his fake customer service voice – this is real Steven – which is absurd to think, because Andrew doesn’t even know this guy, this Steven, but he watches him walk back to the kitchen feeling a lot fuller than when he sat down in his booth. And he hasn’t even eaten yet.

He turns back to the empty text file, the cursor blinking at him like a joke, like he’s the joke, but he forgets to be upset because he smells coffee as he shifts and remembers the tiny chewed down yellow pencil Steven had been writing with and it makes him chuckle, this time for real – no hollow bitter dejectedness, or anything. _Huh_. Maybe he’d drop in a nice word for Steven in the suggestions box, or something. The guy deserved a break.

His order was brought to him by a nice looking girl with huge green eyes and he wonders if Steven made that happen on purpose out of embarrassment or – or what? And Andrew glances toward the counter to find Steven manning the cash register before finishing his food and deciding to go home to do his work – he doesn’t think he’ll get anything done here, soaked in coffee which was starting to get cold, and annoying again. He leaves a tip, a little bit more than he needs to, and speeds off, expecting to never see Steven, or think about him again.

 

-

 

Boy, had he been wrong.

“Shit, shit, sorry, I’m so sorry- what the fuck,” Someone was apologizing to him, and it sounded familiar. He’d made impact with something – someone – that sent its books flying all around them, Andrew barely being shoved backwards by the impact.

“Don’t text and stroll!” a familiar voice yelled, passing by him and whoever it is he’d bumped into, and registered it as probably Kelsey – he liked her, she was in most of his lectures and she carried a water bottle filled with vodka at all times like some kind of no-fucks goddess or possibly party heathen. His cheeks reddened a bit – he _had_ been texting and walking, albeit at a rather slow pace, if he said so himself (which he did). He put his phone in his pocket and reached down to grab the book closest to his feet. The silver-haired head popping back up to a standing position as he collected the last of his discarded shit startled Andrew. He’d instantly connected the face to the person –taking a few seconds to remember the name.

“Steven!” his hair looked nice, different, he thought – he’d been wearing that red diner baseball cap the other day so Andrew hadn’t noticed the colour but it was striking and characteristic like – apparently – the rest of Steven. He was genuinely surprised to see him, pleasantly surprised. Steven smiled at him as he retrieved his last book from Andrew. This all felt so high school tv special in such an absurd way.

“Oh! Heya, it’s you! Uh – _Andrew_?” Steven tilted his head and narrowed his eyes slowly as he pronounced the name, clearly unsure if he was even vaguely correct about it. Andrew huffed a chuckle that started from his chest and ended in a wide, honest grin. “I hope that’s your name? I’m so sorry my memory sucks, sometimes, it’s not that like – I’m trying to act like I’m too cool to remember you, because I’m certainly not, which I’m sure you can see, already but like – I mean, it’d be pointless to pretend to be, anyway, but just in case you thought I was, I’m – not. Uh – sorry, the books, i mean-“ Andrew had to wonder if he’d even taken a second breath for all of that, unable to get in a word edgewise for the entire duration, but smiling nonetheless.

“ _Slow_ down, big guy-“ his voice rattles as the end of his sentence dissolves into a laugh. “Yeah, it’s Andrew. You always like this?” he remembers something Steven had said, something about... rambling? Yeah, that was it. It’s obvious now. He hopes he hadn’t been as bad as him at the diner.

“Er- pretty much, yeah,” Steven’s smile verges on bashful and it’s about the... most something, the most something thing Andrew has ever seen. He can’t pinpoint what, but it’s got more of – this _thing_ – that other people’s smiles don’t really have. It’s weird. Good weird. “Didn’t think I’d see you around again,” he nods enthused at this, bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently.

“Me neither, actually - pretty neat that we keep meeting like this, you dropping something all over me and then going buckwild apologising,” Steven had stalled his movements entirely and had opened his mouth before Andrew had finished talking, giving him a shit-eating grin.

“Fuck, I was just about to apologise for the first part of that sentence before you said the rest of it and – uh, that kind of proves your point, a bit, doesn’t it,” he keeps smiling and Andrew wants to see more of _that_ , for whatever reason.

Steven’s turned his head to look at the analog clock hanging on the wall near them, swearing under his breath as Andrew nods that, yes, Steven had been proving his point. He looks too, noting he has a while before class. “You’ve got some crazy panicked energy going on, it’s like, your thing,” and Andrew’s half-smiling, wondering if that was too much to say – he doesn’t really know the guy – until Steven turns back to look at him and chuckles.

“I’m just naturally inclined to, like, freaking out, a bit,” he smiles and it’s like a beacon – Andrew nods as if in total agreement. “Fuck, uh- Andrew, sorry again – I’m running late I gotta go, I, see you around, eh?” and he smiles at him and it comes off too sweet in proportion to the casualness of their interaction before he runs off down the hall, Andrew twirling in place to watch him go. He feels a little like he’s trying to observe a tornado in its natural habitat, and wonders if Steven’s always like this – all energy held together by loose seams ready to burst open with chaos, or joy, like some kind of... sunny hurricane. _I can’t believe I just thought that._

“Catch you around, Steve!” it slips before he has time to think it, and Steven doesn’t stop running down the hall before calling back with a laugh: “It’s Stee VEN, Steven with an N!”

 

-

 

Andrew’s pretty pleased with himself. He’s managed to complete all his assignments, no extensions needed, right on time to make the deadline – he’s feeling pretty accomplished as he walks into a noon lecture, it’s a good day and he even had pancakes for breakfast. He note-takes absently when he has half the mind to pay attention to the droning voice of his professor, and it’s twenty minutes into the class that a soft stage-whisper of a ‘ _Shit’_ can be heard from somewhere in the seats, and everything stills as a student makes a very awkward show of standing, the rubber of their sole screeching against the floor, drawing even more attention to themselves. The professor clears her throat, and it’s so cinematographical, almost scripted, that Andrew is impressed by the cosmic timing. But then the disruption speaks up, nervously, goes: “this isn’t my lecture oh my god I’m so sorry,” and Andrew fucking _recognises_ that voice, and he searches the crowd for the source of it and sure enough, there’s _Steven with an N_ shuffling his way out through the rows, apologising to every single student he passes and making an even bigger fool of himself by the second. The professor is patient with him, stares in understandable bemusement with eyebrows quirked, as Steven continues in his “shit, fuck, oh god, I’m swearing – so sorry, fuck, sorry.” Andrew snorts out a very genuine laugh, smiling impossibly wide. This guy’s an idiot.

He entertains the thought of calling out ‘bye Steven with an N’ but figures that would be adding salt to the wound, and besides, he’s not sure he wants to involve himself in the situation either. This is too rich.

After his lectures and on his way to his dorm, he jogs his way to the diner. He hopes to every god that Steven is there, even though the option that Steven had a lecture and is now at work doing very taxing customer service is – admittedly – shitty.

Steven blanches as soon as he sees him, having an almost pavlovian reaction to Andrew being in the diner – as if he’s afraid he’ll spill coffee on him again, or something, even though he’s only holding a wad of receipts in his hand at the moment. He waves at Andrew politely, and Andrew purses his lips as he walks to him in an effort not to laugh out loud in a diner full of people eating. Steven notices.

“Quick question, Steven – do you always make such an impression on people wherever you go?”  Steven looks at him perplexed, not sure what Andrew could possibly mean. “I’ve known you less than a week and every single time I’ve seen you, you spent half that time apologising it’s – honestly a recurring theme now.” There’s a moment of blank staring before Steven’s eyes go wide with realisation.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Steven groans, shutting his eyes for a moment. “The lecture?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, Steven – I, the English major, was in English I – which, by the way, how did you _not_ notice what that was?” he’s biting the inside of his cheek now, but his smile is still splitting half his face. Steven’s trying to force a sour look on his face but he can’t keep himself from smiling either.

“Okay, first of all, I think you’ve already noticed I’m not exactly Sherlock when it comes to – uh, noticing. things.”

“Or people, in front of you,”

“That was as much on me as it was on you-“ Steven points an accusing finger at Andrew, and Andrew stares at it, feeling like he’s going to burst out laughing any minute now.

“I was staring at my phone irresponsibly – your field of vision was clear as day, my friend,” and it feels so comfortable and easy, talking like this with Steven, it’s almost like the past tormenting week of essays never even happened.

“Also, you’re an english major?” Steven conveniently bypasses what Andrew had just said, staring at him with something new in his eyes, now. Andrew only just realises that, yeah, Steven didn’t know that – he couldn’t possibly have.

“Apparently,” Andrew bites his lip and exhales softly. “Yes, yeah, I’m an english major, you?” Steven shrugs, taking a deep breath and looking all around the room, absently.

“Chemical engineering,” he nods, like he’s confirming it to himself. “And drama minor.” Andrew doesn’t know what to say. The ground feels a bit like jelly beneath his feet, unsteady and like he might sink in it if he makes a sharp move – because Steven? Steven is fucking smart as shit. And that info is somehow not just compelling to Andrew, but also affecting him quite a lot, directly. “It’s not like, a big deal-“ Steven starts to shake his head, trying to rationalize god knows what – Andrew can’t begin to understand. He realises Steven is insecure about all of this, even though that’s fucking absurd, because this has to be the coolest combination of courses he’s ever heard and he’s having trouble breathing because – it’s. It’s hot, is what it is, but Andrew isn’t ready to use that word in his brain or anywhere else. He laughs it off casually, out loud.

“Why does that not surprise me at all-“

“Wh- Uh, which part?” Steven is scrambling for reassurance but at least he’s smiling now, brows knit together.

“Each part, the genius major and the dramaticism. Seems a lot like, you know –“ he gestures vaguely to all of Steven. “A good summary of what I’ve witnessed thus far.” Steven might be blushing, a little bit, so he looks off to the side and not at Andrew’s direction at all, outside one of the diner’s large window displays.

“It’s not that big a deal,” he repeats, very softly.

“Sure it’s not, but it’s really fucking cool, you have to admit.”

Steven lets his guard down and bites. He shrugs playfully and nods as if to say _“yeah you’re totally right, It bangs.”_   which it a thousand percent does. Andrew is loving this turn of events already.

 

-

 

Steven hates this. He doesn’t hate a lot of things, so it’s really telling that right now, he hates this, quite a lot actually – in fact, very very much. This was a stupid idea. This was a very dumb, no good, unbelievably bad idea.

Steven isn’t unambitious, okay – Steven has dreams that he likes to chase, once in a while. Working part-time in a used bookstore isn’t exactly career of the century – but he likes it, and it’s leagues better than the disaster diner (which he still has to endure because he’s on a half-scholarship and money’s tight with his family and it’s just – it’s good work). Here it’s quieter, less hurried, and he hasn’t spilled coffee on anyone, yet. It keeps him afloat while he studies, granting him a routine and a steady paycheck and an unparalleled atmosphere of honest-to-god _magic_ ; and books – Steven thinks – are definitely magic.

When Steven was eight years old, his grandmother would take him to the park regularly – kind of like walking a dog, except Steven was properly potty-trained and he didn’t have a leash, but he was just as energetic and frantic and hopelessly curious as any puppy. He’d run away from his grandma too often, out of pure distractedness – there was simply too much to take in and not enough hours in the afternoon to do it. On one such occasion, he stumbled upon a kindly old lady with her walking stick and guide dog. He was a shy kid, but animals and women that reminded him of his grandmother were just a whole other realm that he could find comfort in, and so he talked to her, and she instantly became a chapter of enlightenment in his life. She was a poet, and she was blind, and Steven stared at her in awe, openly, thinking to himself how lucky he was that he had the privilege to do that – since she couldn’t see him back to think it rude. When his grandma found him and apologized profusely to the poetess in that small but precise voice she used on strangers, Steven called out his goodbye, crestfallen and simultaneously renewed, and as they walked away he called over his shoulder “I’m going to be a poet too, someday!”

He wonders, now, if she ever heard him say that. He doesn’t wonder if she’d care – he knows she would. No matter what you’re made of, a little boy telling you he wants to be like you, someday, he knows that matters. He hopes she heard.

It’s more than a decade later now, and his aspirations – well, didn’t shift entirely, but they adapted to fit in other things. He was large, he contained multitudes – he studied chemistry and theatre and sometimes, he wrote poems that he printed on campus (in a hurry, almost as if he didn’t want his brain to catch up to his body and stop himself), and bound together with string, and he asked his boss if he could, maybe, sell them for a buck or two at the shop. She had shrugged yes noncommittally, staring at him like he’d asked her the most mundane thing in her life – and to her it probably was, but this was Everything to Steven.

Except now it’s all ruined, it’s all fucked up, it’s destroyed in the mud in the gutter – because Andrew, the guy from the diner, the guy from campus – _Andrew_ – is here, and he’s picked up one of his sorry excuses of a poetry zine and is leafing through it with avid curiousity and Steven just wants to _die_. He wonders if it’s too late to hide behind a stack of books, or crawl under the cashier’s desk, or perhaps – more optimistically – pray loud enough in his brain that the earth opens up and eats him whole. Andrew’s eyes float up as if on cue and all hopes of staying out of sight and hiding dissolve right in front of him – crushed. And Steven realises he’s staring, has been for a while now, rooted in place and frozen. When it comes to fight or flight, Steven has always been a freezer. There’s a smile in Andrew’s eyes and his face and everywhere but his lips – really, but Steven can tell he wants to smile there too, Steven can tell he’s holding back. _Fuck_ , wholeheartedly.

Andrew sets down the pamphlet, zine, poetry-book-maybe, and gracefully maneuvers his way to Steven. How the fuck is he so... elegant, all the time? Steven is disgusted with himself. Okay, happy thoughts, Steven.

“Hey,”  Andrew’s casual enough, and Steven almost sighs on the spot – because Andrew is so nice, and he smells like the christmas bundle you get for a discount at the body shop that smells like glazed apple and plum and cider or whatnot, and it’s very disconcerting for Steven because he finds he doesn’t want christmas to end, ever. This metaphor is hopeless.

“Hi, hey. Hey.” not weird at all, excellent, _A Very Casual Steven Lim_. Out of all the embarrassing things he’s done in front of Andrew, this entire situation takes the cake. And not just any cake – the tiered wedding cake that has too many layers for even all the guests to eat. Or, better – the fake kind, that’s large, and you can hire hot people to jump out of. Takes _that_ cake.

“Are you.... Steven _Lim_?” Andrew shifts a bit to lift up one of the poetry collections, and Steven thinks this is it, this is when he dies. Except Andrew doesn’t seem to be smiling anymore, at least not in any way that indicates he’s going to mock Steven, and that’s promising – he likes that.

“Uh- no?” he drags the word out too much, too long, too high pitched – and Andrew quirks his head to the side and half-smiles at him. “Maybe,” Steven clears his throat. “Okay yeah – that’s me. I don’t believe we’ve.. met,” he can feel his cheeks are flushed to fuck and back, but he’s smiling now, dimples and all. Andrew picks up the poetry collection with finality and reaches into his pockets for change.

“You jest, but we haven’t – not formally. Nice to meet you, Steve, with an N, Lim –“ he keeps digging in his pocket, brow furrowed, and Steven panics a bit. “How much for this?”now Steven panics a lot.

“Uh- are you sure you... want that? That’s really, total garbage. There’s other stuff, uh-“

“Nah, I want this.” his face is so serious, even though Steven knows there’s mirth under that thin layer of neutrality, and that scares him even more.

“It’s – nothing. Just take it,” Steven waves his hand dismissively, wonders how red his face must be right now. Andrew huffs out a bit of a laugh.

“Okay, now I know it’s not nothing, because I leafed through it and-“

“Oh god, please don’t give me a live review I think I might die of mortification,”

“Okay.” Andrew concedes with a smile that can only be called fond, and he finally digs out five dollars and gives them to Steven.

“No, no what are you doing – it’s. It’s on me, I spilled coffee all over you –“

“Oh!” Andrew exclaims, ecstatic. “So you think you can bribe your way to my good side with poetry, eh? Tricky, suave. Won’t work, I tell ya,” Steven knows he’s joking but his heart is beating too fast for this whole conversation. He racks his brain for something, anything, to divert the attention from him, and his writing, god be willing to even call it that –

“What’s your name?” he blurts out, and immediately regrets it. This is almost worse than the poetry review.

“What?” Andrew says it in a laugh, as confused as he should be.

“No, I mean like – you know my full name now. You were the one who said we weren’t formally introduced, before, I’m just-“

“Oh! Oh, it’s – uhm, it’s Andrew Ilnyckyj.” Steven takes that in, nods, still a little at a loss because Andrew is holding a wad of paper that has words he wrote on it – his words. His feelings and thoughts and! Somehow Andrew having that knowledge is scarier than a total stranger. “But don’t bother googling me, you won’t get the spelling of it right in a million years – if that’s what you were hoping for,” Steven’s still lost in thought, considering all the many ways he could get Andrew to not look at his poetry, to never have looked at it – ever. Hit him over the head and give him amnesia? Burn the pamphlet in his hands, shocking him into forgetting the events of today? Options aplenty. He snaps back to the here and now, realising what Andrew’s just said and pauses. He hadn’t even thought of that. In the midst of his panicking, he never once considered he could find Andrew on facebook like this.

“Well, fuck, that’s not fair! My name is literally the easiest spelling ever – it’s so straightforward. You white people are nuts,” and he says it with such conviction, comes out a bit like a genuine whine, that Andrew snorts out loud and laughs for a while before biting down on his own lip.

“Exposed yourself and your intentions, Steven,”

“Honestly, I deserve this – you’ve got my writing in your hands, that scares the shit out of me,” he chuckles with sincerity, and once again Steven’s comfortable honesty shocks Andrew, he almost drops the poetry. He’s not sure what to do. He thinks maybe, maybe he should just put the poems back, let someone else – someone who deserves to read this – buy it. He realises that wouldn’t go down well, narrative-wise, Steven is trusting him with his poetry, and Andrew is infinitely curious, because he skimmed through it earlier and – it’s good. It’s so good. There’s a lot of rawness in it, in the way Steven talks about his fears and his experiences, in language that’s florid enough to be pleasant but not too decorative. And Andrew is just having a tough time handling that Steven can do _this_ too, of all things.

“I’m going to go home now, and read this in one sitting,” he quirks his eyebrows up and says in his most serious, promising tone. Steven laughs.

“You do that. Or, you know – burn it. it’s good incense,” Andrew chortles at that, a bit, and shakes his head.

“While I do one of those equally fascinating things-“ Andrew’s eyes widen comically and his eyebrows knit together, “You can go home and try to spell my last name, do we have a deal?”

“I wasn’t going to do it, but now it’s a challenge, and I have to win,”

“ _Sure_ you weren’t,” and _fuck_ ,Steven thinks, Andrew doesn’t even know him, but he’s right, in his sarcasm.

Steven’s boss snaps him out of his conversation with Andrew, telling him she’s been calling his name for minutes, and he avoids Andrew’s eyes shyly again as he asks him if he wants to buy anything else, before he has to go tend to other customers.

Andrew goes home and realises he never actually got to pay for the poems.

 

-

 

Andrew stands in line, early morning, the queue at Starbucks too long for him to justify going here as a ‘quick stop for coffee before uni’. So, sue him, he likes to drink elaborately sometimes.

“I’m sorry, but your bill’s been declined. You have to stand at the back of the line – you gave us forged money,”

Andrew’s ears perk up at that, the lady at the register is talking to one of the customers.

“I just- But, I have other notes I can give you I? I swear I got that as change just today, I – please just try this other bank note like, if it’s forged too I’ll go to the back of the line, I promise but – I’ve been standing here so long, it’s – I’m, I just want my coffee, please,” the voice, the customer, sounds so frantic, on the verge of a panic, and Andrew thinks they might start to apologise soon – the way their voice wavers and that’s when he realises. It’s fucking Steven Lim, again. He inches his head out of the queue to check, and sure enough, two people in front of him and there’s Steven, looking worried in a different way than Andrew’s ever seen him. It makes something in him pang uncomfortably.

“Mister, there are people waiting behind you – a lot of people, please just do as the lady says,” there’s a middle aged woman behind Steven, with greying hair and a petite stature and she means no harm with her words but she’s stern in her tone of voice and as Steven turns to face her with his eyebrows bunched up together he looks like he might cry, and Andrew feels like he has to do something. He steps forward, then, shaking his head and smiling and Steven notices the movement next to him as Andrew reaches the counter and visibly relaxes, although his face is red again from embarrassment.

“Hey, look, I’ll pay for him – and then we’ll both go – two birds with one stone, right?” and Steven’s staring at him, beginning to form the question ‘why?’ with his mouth, torn between his previous panic and his current relief and total, complete confusion.

“That’s just not the protocol, mister,” the lady at the cash register says and Steven looks back at her with a puzzled expression that practically screams ‘are you kidding me?’, and Andrew knows her job is overwhelming and tiring and all too much, but right now she’s being unjustifiably difficult, and to Steven no less – whom he’s known for little over two weeks and already knows is the kindest person to probably ever grace this forsaken planet. The lady behind Steven sighs, audibly and deliberately.

“Listen, darling – the line goes on for forever, it’s in everyone’s best interest that you take this gentleman’s offer,” and Andrew smiles kindly at her, her face warming at the sight of his dimples. Steven’s eyebrows shoot up, having noticed the exchange. The cashier sighs, visibly resigned, mutters a passive-aggressive ‘whatever’ and punches in the numbers as Andrew pays. His drink is finished, waiting for him at the end of the counter, and Andrew reaches for it being closest to it, barely suppressing his chuckle at seeing Steven’s name spelled as “Stephen”.

They’re out of the store when Andrew hands him the plastic cup and Steven’s looking at him with large doe-eyes looking like he might cry again. He looks back at the door, almost as if haunted by the image of it, and walks forward, Andrew following behind.

“Why did you do that for me? That was so nice?” Steven says and his voice trembles, barely, but Andrew was waiting for that, somehow expected it. “Thank you so much,” it’s a breath, the way he says it, and it’s so unbelievably genuine that Andrew feels like he’s been surgically opened and examined by doctors.

“Dude, it’s literally nothing –“

“It’s not, though, because you must’ve been standing in that line for god-knows-how-long, and you’re just taking this so calmly, because apparently you’re like? The Mother Theresa of Starbucks disasters – or maybe not, I heard she was actually pretty terrible? Or maybe that was someone else, I don’t know – but, yeah, basically, what you did wasn’t. You didn’t have to and, thank you,” Steven’s worked up again, so he takes a sip from the straw and swallows a bit of the whipped cream on top of his drink.

“What the hell are you drinking?” Steven looks up at that, still sipping, and he looks ridiculous and too worked up over nothing, and Andrew feels this ridiculous urge to wrap a blanket around him and protect him for as long as he’s allowed.

“It’s uh- mocha frap with gingerbread and chocolate syrup?” He says it like a question, like he knows Andrew’s going to laugh his ass off at him – and so Andrew does, it comes out like a punch of breath, and he rubs at the bridge of his nose.

“You are- whimsical,” Andrew’s smile is too big for his face, and Steven lightens at that, shakes his head.

“But seriously, thank you. I feel really bad now, you didn’t even get your drink-“

Andrew has to cut him off there, waving his hands to prevent the damage. “Do you get worked up like this, over every little thing?” He says it with a soft smile. “Jesus, dude, it’s like you feel everything under a magnifying glass.” and Steven pauses at that, stares at the ground, chewing on his straw without thinking about it.

“Okay, fuck. Yeah, yeah I guess that’s true.” Andrew remembers the poems, suddenly, decides it’s a bad time to bring them up – but, he would like to – because they’d been really great, and they showcase this just as well as this whole mocha frap with gingerbread and chocolate syrup fiasco had. He can’t believe he remembered the order, honestly, Steven is too much. But like, in a good way.

“About the drink, too – yours is a venti, we can share,” he shrugs like it’s nothing, and he means it entirely as a joke, didn’t even care that much about coffee, to be honest, but Steven lightens up instantly.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course!” Andrew has to stare at him at that, because he feels, sometimes, like Steven is from a completely different planet – one where every good thing in the world exists times a million, and the bad things are just shadows that barely touch the surface of reality. He wants to exist in that world too, he wants to be as pure as Steven makes him feel – which is a totally non-weird thing to say, or think, for that matter, because Steven is just – a very specific person, and a very rare one too, and it’s totally warranted to feel specific, rare things about him. Yeah. “I know you were joking when you said that – but like, I’m serious.  I swear I don’t mind, although I have a feeling this type of drink may not be your thing?” he inclines the cup his way, and curses himself internally for chewing on the straw. It’s not damaged or bent, but he realises that might be... irreparably disgusting. He says so. Andrew rolls his eyes and looks upwards for almost a full minute, as if asking a higher power to give him strength to endure Steven’s particular brand of foolishness – and maybe he is. Steven would find that adorable. Or not.

“Eugh – okay, seriously this is like, unicorn blood, that’s why you’re so hyperactive all the time it’s all the sugar, jesus,” he’s saying everything through a huge grin, and he doesn’t seem to dislike the drink, which makes Steven oddly happy to know. “it’s good, it’s good – definitely not my caffeinated beverage of choice – but I see the appeal. Very Steven, too, or – you know-“ he thumbs at the condensation fogging up the outside of the plastic, prodding at the sharpied name on it. “-Stephen. With a ph. And an N.”

“Hey!” Steven laughs at him, recognising the jab. “Is this going to become a regular thing? You making fun of the N? Because I’m fond of the N, I’ll have you know,”

“Oh I do know, you’ve made it abundantly clear,” and Steven laughs heartily at that, Andrew can’t decide why – it wasn’t particularly funny – but he finds himself unable to stop smiling like his life depends on it, so he guesses they’re on even ground.

They’ve been walking around campus for a while, taking turns to sip from the obscenely saccharine coffee before they have to go to class when Steve speaks up.

“Hey,  so like – what’s the deal with you and coffee? Wherever I go, it’s you, and it’s coffee,”

“That’s.... patently untrue, except for like – twice,”

“That’s still like fifty percent of our interactions, thus far.” Andrew pretends to mull it over.

“Thats fair, I guess that’s just who I am, I’m the coffee guy.”

“Remember, you initiated that moniker now, not me,” Steven says this with mischief, and Andrew groans in mock-disdain.

“Fuck, are you the type of guy who gives everyone nicknames and such?”

“Uh-“ one side of Steven’s lips quirked upwards, a joke. “Maybe.” he bunched his nose to the side and Andrew found himself thinking not for the first time that Steven was endearing, to the point that it kind of maybe hurt. “Guess you’ll have to find out, coffee boy,”

“Coffee _guy_ – I said coffee guy,”

“Oh, did you?”

 

-

 

They’ve exchanged phone numbers now, and have fallen into a nice routine of texting each other interesting tidbits of their day, like when Steven got to work on something in a lab that literally blew up – as in – that was its purpose, its goal, to be explosive; or when Andrew zoomed in on his professor’s face and put snapchat filters on him, sending the screenshots over to Steven without context. They’re really starting to be something like friends, now, and Steven’s super glad, because he likes expanding his horizons and opening his wings – except, he’s still chronically shy and has the craziest most packed schedule of all time what with his courses and his work. Meeting new friends hasn’t been much of an option, lately – but Andrew has become that, against all odds, and is so easy to talk to, and warm, and it feels like they’ve known each other for forever.

Steven’s lying in his bed, cosy after his shower and ready to rest his entire fucking body. He’s scrolling through twitter when he gets another one, another message.

 **[11:57pm] Coffee Boy:** _what’s your opinion on candy corn?_

Steven makes a puzzled face, for no one but himself, and chuckles as he replies.

 **Steven Lim:** _excellent. not on pizza though. i’ve seen the heathenry and i take no part in it!!_

 **Steven Lim:** _why do u ask???_

 **Steven Lim:** _pls tell me u r not one of the heathens. pizza is sacred andrew_

He can’t help but smile, there’s something giddy and almost childish that sparks itself into life whenever they text it’s – not something Steven can explain, but it makes him warm with happiness. He guesses it’s the novelty of this friendship. Must be.

A few minutes later and the reply comes-

 **[12:01am] Coffee Boy:** _I’m not godless, StepheN._

Steven sighs, faking disappointment for an audience of no one. He can’t stop the smiling.

 **Coffee Boy:** _Nah, I just love candy corn and was hoping we were on the same page about it. Very glad to report back that we are._

 **Steven Lim:** _excellent, coffee boy_

 **Coffee Boy:** _IM GROANING at that You should Know_

 **Steven Lim:** _call me stephen again and then we’ll talk_

 **Coffee Boy:** _The two are not comparable nicknames, Steven._

 **Steven Lim:** _AHA! blackmail works u used the right one_

 **Coffee Boy:** _You know what? I’m changing your contact name._

 **Steven Lim:** _wh hat._

 **Steven Lim:** _ANDREW_

 **Steven Lim:** _to w h a t_

 **[12:07am] StepheN Lim:** _u better not have changed it to stephen is2g_

_-_

Andrew’s in class when his phone buzzes where it sits on his desk, and he grabs it to put it on silent mode, expecting it to be some irrelevant e-mail or a text from his phone company or anything but-

 **[11:35am] StepheN Lim** : _fuck fuck fuck guess who’s late again I FELL ASLEEP THROUGH ALL MY ALARMS AHAHAHAHFHH i’ll take who’s a mess for 600$ what is steven lim_

Andrew’s mouth instantly forms a smile, chuckling despite himself.

 **Coffee Boy** : _Did you sleep through your lecture? Is this the same lecture you missed all those weeks ago because you came to English I_

 **Coffee Boy:** _Which is the class I’m in now. Which means you routinely miss this same lecture, hmmm_

 **Coffee Boy:** _I’m not saying it’s fishy but. It’s fishy (fish emoji)_

 **[11:39am] StepheN Lim:** _did u just fucking type out fish emoji_

 **Coffee Boy:** _I didn’t want to bother looking for the emoji_

 **StepheN Lim:** _you’re literally like those viral tumblr screenshots of The Fools who don’t know how to use technology. ngl you’re a grandpa_

 **Coffee Boy:** _Sweet! Where’s my fam_

 **StepheN Lim:** _never say that to me again_

 **[11:45am] StepheN Lim:** _i’m already late to this lecture should i sleep through it yes/no_

 **Coffee Boy:** _No. But then again you told me to never say ‘fam’ again, and will I listen? Also no, so do what you will._

 **StepheN Lim:** _how are u of any help rn_

 **Coffee Boy:** _Am not ;)_

 

Steven sits on the edge of his bed, now dressed but still contemplating whether the walk to campus is even worth it. He smiles like an idiot down at his phone. Something tugs at his stomach, at his chest. He shakes his head and puts his phone away.

 

-

 

“I’m just saying – pineapple on pizza? That’s an investment, whether you agree with it or not,” Andrew is waving his slice of pepperoni and cheese to emphasize his point, and Steven is shaking his head, biting into his own slice.

“Are you gonna eat that or keep waving it at me, because I’m not afraid to take it from you,” and Andrew takes a luxurious bite then, narrowing his eyes at Steven.

“Never the pizza, Steven, you know better than that,” and admittedly, yes, he does, because Steven knows that pizza is probably Andrew’s favourite food, along with maybe salmon, and how he takes his coffee, and what side of the bed he slept on when he was a kid but how that changed, entering adulthood, for some odd reason – and various other things he doesn’t know about a lot of other people he’s close to, things a lot of people close to Andrew may not know as well. Something sits very comfortably, very warmly in the core of Steven’s chest as he happily chows down on more pizza.

The almost white lighting that illuminates the pizzeria should be uncomfortable, or clinical, but it isn’t – it feels like it makes them that much more aware, of their surroundings and each other, and Andrew has tomato sauce all around his lips and he’s licking the grease off his fingers and Steven can’t stop staring at him, this man he spilled coffee on, this man he made a fool of himself to repeatedly and who still thought he was worth befriending. Yeah, he’s happy.

There’s one last piece and it belongs to Andrew, objectively, but he folds it carefully in half until the crust snaps at the bottom, and he tears it into two parts as even as possible, which is quite even – to be honest, and Steven is impressed and he laughs.

“This was... magnificent. But seriously? It’s your pizza, it’s your piece- it’s your. piece-a pizza,” Steven looks all too satisfied with himself and Andrew groans, wanting to hold his head in his hands for dramatic effect but his hands are too greasy.

“Look what you’ve done to me – I can’t even react with fervour to this –“ He says, explaining the predicament to Steven who keeps laughing lightly.

“Eh, you’ll live,” to which Andrew chuckles and eats his slice. Steven insists that it’s only fair, and Andrew concedes (because it’s pizza, Andrew fucking loves pizza) and eats the other half too, only because Steven refused to eat it.

“I can’t take advantage of your kindness like this,” and he’s only half-joking, because what does it mean that Andrew may not share pizza with anyone but he cut his own last slice in half to give some to Steven? He knows he’s reading way too much into this, but he doesn’t want to have a reason to, or maybe he does and? Ugh, he doesn’t know. Anyway, he likes Andrew happy, and Andrew was very happy to eat that whole pizza slice.

Andrew chews carefully around his very last bite, looking like the cat who got the cream, eyes bright with the happiness of a full tummy and an evening well spent, and Steven takes careful sips of his pepsi, trying not to worry about the palpitations he’s having.

 

-

 

It’s too fucking early, but he’s got an 8am, damn it all to hell, so he has to get up and out of the deliciously warm embrace of his bed. Andrew could think of better ways to spend his friday morning rather than attend a class – like, well, stay sleeping, or you know – literally anything else. He considers taking a page from the Steven Lim I slept through my lectures book, but he knows that would be a cheap shot. Steven doesn’t do it on purpose, or make a habit of it – and it only ever happens because he works two jobs as well as keep up with coursework. Exploiting Steven’s exhaustion to justify his own laziness just feels wrong to Andrew. And he’s intellectualizing a little too much over this, so he rolls over and drags himself with as much energy as he has to the shower.

 **[6:58am] darndrew ill sicky:** _Fuck 8ams, honestly_.

 **[7:00 am] darndrew ill sicky:** _oh, also good morning_

 

Andrew’s day drags on through two painful morning lectures over lunch where he gets his reply.

 **[11:30am] Cinnabon man** : _good morning!!! but also yikes ass crack of dawn or what_

Andrew snorts his laughter around a mouthful of sandwich.

 **darndrew ill sicky** : _Fuck your friday noon class privilege_

 **Cinnabon man** : _hey, i work 2 jobs!_

Andrew winces. He knows that. He knows Steven wasn’t hurt or offended, it was just a joke but – he knows that. He knows and he should be – no – he should show he knows, he acknowledges it, even in his casual conversations.

 **darndrew ill sicky** _: I know, fuck, I’m sorry, you know what I meant_

 **Cinnabon man** : _damn, ‘drew (pun intended), don’t get so !!!!!!!! it’s cool ur cool <3_

Andrew feels something thud in his ribcage and he idly realises, almost as if out of his own body, that that must have been his heart, beating irregularly. He can’t exactly understand why, but when he looks down at the chat – it happens again. He locks his phone screen and slips it in his pocket without replying.

 

-

 

 **[4:02pm] darndrew ill sicky:** _Any pun that needs it’s pun status affirmed is not a good pun, but I’ll give you a silver medal for effort and execution. Also thanks I never mean to be insensitive. I don’t forget the hard work you put into every single thing you do._

 Steven stares at his phone screen, like the words don’t make sense. He wants to smile so much and yet it’s not happening. He feels, distantly, the realisation that he really is so fucking lucky to have a friend like Andrew. He really hopes he knows it.

 **Cinnabon man:** _Hey, andrew. u never are. i know u don’t. you’re such a good friend? please never change, consider me shook_

 **darndrew ill sicky** : _Considered._

 **Cinnabon man:** _i’m blocking u kdjfksdfj_

 

-

 

The sun beats pleasantly on Steven’s back as they walk down a gravel path that loops its way through the local dog park. Their shoes crunch satisfyingly on the ground, and Steven relishes in every footstep. Andrew’s taken to watching him as they walk, his smile something between tender and mocking Steven, and Steven feels the eyes boring into the side of his face.

“Hey, stop staring and judging!” he’s smiling though, so it has no real heat to it. Andrew shrugs and looks forward, Jen’s dog trotting happily before them.

“I just think it’s sweet, you know – you’re connecting with your inner child,” sounds innocent enough, but he’s biting the inside of his cheek because he knows Steven will get what he means anyway – and what he means is to tease Steven – in good nature, but tease him all the same.

“Oh fuck off, I am the inner child,” Steven can take the bait and play along with it too, though, and Andrew’s smile widens as they stroll.

“You know, somehow, I never doubted that,” Andrew’s smile is shit-eating, the way it always gets.

They walk around a few minutes more and Steven takes a bunch of videos of Andrew playing with Jen’s dog (which is tiny, and black and fluffy, and Steven can’t stop talking like a crazy baby-man when she’s in frame) at the park, running into piles of crunchy leaves and trying to avoid the dirty ponds. And failing. Steven drapes her over his shoulder, because _“it’s much more fun then just holding her like a babe”_ until Andrew laughs at him to knock it off before he drops her and Jen murders him in his sleep, which, as far as Andrew’s threats go? Kind of works, because Jen is adorable, and she’s tiny, but she can raise hell if she wants to and Steven loves that little dog too much to even risk it. But it’s worth the five minutes of pirate jokes he got to make, Andrew shaking his head in a very poor imitation of disappointment. You can’t really pretend to be disappointed when you’ve got a smile stretching your face as wide as it can, it seems.

“Would you ever get a dog of your own?” Steven prompts Andrew. It’s clear Andrew loves animals, which only makes the bubble of _something_ in Steven’s chest grow bigger, and he doesn’t understand why but he knows it’s happened and – Steven loves animals too. He’s not sure why Andrew’s potentially wanting a pet matters so much to him, personally, but it does.

“Mm, I dunno – I might! They’re so fun,” his voice gets light, and excited, like he’s daydreaming about dogs and it makes him happy. That _something_ from before clutches tighter around Steven’s heart. “But I’m leaning more towards cats – they’re more independent, in a way? I guess It’s easier for me to live with cats, but I love dogs.” something about that answer both excites and deflates Steven, and as they walk back to Jen’s home to feed the puppy he mulls it over, thinking, _alright, I love cats too, that’s great, this is great._

 

-

 

He’s lying awake in his own bed thinking about everything and nothing, when he remembers something that he feels is relevant but can’t place where. Like a newfound jigsaw piece but he doesn’t know where it goes. When he was little his mom would call him puppy – and his grandma always compared him to a small, excitable dog. _Yeah_ , he guesses, he’s always been more of a dog – personality-wise. The stereotype of dogs, at least. He’s a little clingy, and he’s tactile, and he runs around full of energy and wears his heart on his sleeve which, weird to think but, dogs do too _. I guess it’s easier for me to live with cats._ Oh.

_But I love dogs too._

Steven falls asleep.

 

-

 

They’ve fallen so comfortably into each other’s friendship, that often they remind each other how they met _(hey, you spilled coffee all over me – I keep almost forgetting_ ), and they laugh about it because they forget – and that makes it so much realer, because now their friendship is based on more than just happenstance and a hilarious first meeting. They have common interests, shared beliefs – they’re passionate about so many of the same things and yet still have enough differences to keep them on their toes and – and they care about each other in such a tangible way, it’s heartwarming and feels a bit fragile, sometimes. Like if he thinks about it too hard, it might break – Andrew muses.

They’re in his dorm room because Steven’s housemate – Zack something – has, of all things, sexiled him – which is utterly ridiculous.

“It’s his apartment, Andrew – he has the right to do what he wants,” Steven says, nonchalante. He doesn’t seem too bothered by being kicked out of his own house because Zack’s boner apparently takes priority but – it’s not that big a deal anyway, but Andrew’s just _saying_.

“Okay, right, that’s what I’m saying – he happens to have an apartment in this city – it’s not a cramped, tiny dorm – there’s plenty of space for you to just Be, you know? I can’t help but feel like it’s a little bit him taking advantage of your being so allowing,” Andrew shrugs, he doesn’t know why he’s so adamant to defend Steven’s... what? His space? His honour? No, none of those, just, Steven –in general, it seems. That just comes with the territory of friendship. He realises something and then backtracks, taking a sip of his beer. “Which isn’t to say I’m not glad you’re here – because, very fucking clearly, you’re my best friend and I love having you around,” Steven’s breath hitches at that, and he takes a quick swig of his cider – it’s sweeter, better tasting than beer – to mask that weird reaction.

“Dude, don’t worry so much – it’s not like it happens regularly. Besides, Andrew. It’s. It’s not just him,” and Steven stares at Andrew, nodding his head at him like there’s something Andrew’s supposed to be getting, and he doesn’t. For a moment he lets his mind wander down the paths of what ifs and wishful thinking gets him all tangled up in something he doesn’t want to name. He looks confused, and Steven notices.

“It’s not just that Zack asked me to leave – Andrew,” He says it very slowly, like he’s enunciating a word Andrew’s meant to parrot back, and he doesn’t get it. A few moments pass where Steven narrows his eyes awkwardly, realising he’s going to have to spell it out for Andrew, before he takes a deep breath and just says it. “They’re really fucking loud, Andrew,” and Andrew inhales deeply, because, OH, yeah, that makes sense, and somehow that’s so obvious but Andrew never even thought to consider it – his mind jumping hoops to come to the conclusions it wanted. He shakes his head, doesn’t want to go there, and Steven thinks he’s shaking the mental image of Zack and his girlfriend out and laughs, because yeah – if that had been the case it would’ve been comedy gold. Andrew doesn’t correct him, laughs along – because it’s easier to play this game then walk down the yellow brick road to fuck-knows-where, risking everything on the way.

They order thai food and lounge around watching vine compilations and talking about anything that comes to mind, and it’s so easy being here with Steven that Andrew forgets all about how hard university is and how much he hates his Theatre Lit teacher and how much he regrets taking that extra English class for more credit because Steven is this radiance, this exuberant sunshine that it’s almost like he literally melts Andrew’s problems away. Andrew sometimes wonders if that’s even fair, to place that on Steven – because it’s not his obligation to melt Andrew’s shit away for him, and he doesn’t think it is, anyway, it’s just what happens – because Steven is so good, and so warm, and so positive, and he glows everywhere and his cheeks bunch up in that cute way of his when he smiles that it’s impossible not to love him, not to feel like he’s the sun and everything in your life that feels bad is a sad soft serve ice cream left alone in a park to melt, and evaporate. He wonders, he hopes – that he brings even an ounce of that relief to Steven. He chuckles bitterly to himself, because, he couldn’t. He can’t measure up to Steven. No one really can.

Steven pokes his chopsticks into Andrew’s box, forcing him out of his thoughts and into reality – which is somehow sweeter, in this moment with Steven, and he steals some of his dish and Andrew’s heart isn’t really in the pretense-offended “Hey” that comes out hoarse to accuse Steven, because he’s so happy and his heart is full, and his lips sting a little from the sauce and Steven is right there, his lips are _tingling_ , he thinks again - and what does that even mean – but it is what it is, and Steven smiles at him as he eats more of his food, like it’s his life’s mission to interfere with Andrew’s pathway and make it so much more pleasant. Andrew steals from Steven’s dish too, because he wants to do that for Steven, too. He wants to make that pathway pleasant for his best friend.

“I’m kind of glad Zack’s getting laid,” Steven says after they’re both lying on their backs on the ground, stuffed beyond imagining. Andrew starts to laugh giddily at Steven’s phrasing.

“I mean, why shouldn’t you be – happy day for him,” Andrew knows where Steven’s going with this, but he’s nothing if not difficult for all the right reasons. So he smiles impishly, staring at the ceiling and regretting every last bite.

“No, well- I mean, yeah- but. Also, if it weren’t for that, I would’ve just, probably spent tonight in my room watching criminal minds, or something,” Steven lets that hang in the air before he follows it up with a giggle, genuinely happy at the turn of his evening.

“Which is a great show, I commend you,”

“You know what I mean,” He twists to face Andrew, and Andrew does the same, and it’s like an electric shock, for a moment – too intense that they both look away. Steven begins to laugh again. It’s great, they’re great. Andrew stares at the ceiling hard enough he thinks he starts to see little laser holes being punched through it. A thought crosses Andrew’s mind, shaking him out of his spiral and making him begin to smile-

“I’m glad he got laid too.” they both laugh.

 

-

 

There’s a smirk playing on Steven’s lips and Andrew isn’t even looking up at him to know it’s there. Steven’s hand fidgets impatiently over the wood of this library desk and Andrew can feel his eyes boring into his forehead – sometimes he really does wonder whether Steven is just peering into his skull, reading all his thoughts like it’s nothing. God, that would be embarrassing. Steven is across from him and Andrew is trying to highlight something in his textbook that’s thicker than it should be and has too many big words that he can’t process at the moment - and he’s shaking his leg beneath the table – Andrew wants to tell him to stop because it’s distracting, but he knows that jiggle – that’s not Steven’s hyperactive jiggle, that’s Steven’s I’m-up-to-something-and-it’s-no-good jiggle and Andrew is curious and restless and very much afraid. He chances a look up at Steven , a smile ghosting over his lips.

“What did you do,” it’s a question but not phrased as one, and as soon as it’s out, Steven groans and rolls his eyes skywards.

“Must you always assume the worst?”

“When you’re doing that leg thing, yeah, I must,” Steven stares at him then, and Andrew can feel his leg stop moving consciously. He feels like he said something unbelievably forbidden, in that moment; letting Steven know that – he notices these things. He knows these things. He knows he shouldn’t, but he almost can’t help himself. It feels good to know and to validate this about himself, in a selfish way. Steven licks his lower lip, trying to look at anyplace but Andrew because he knows Andrew’s doing that thing where he’s looking at him without a readable expression and that freaks him out a little because he’s not very keen on not being able to read people and whenever Andrew stares at him like that he kind of wavers and breaks and spills all the beans, every single bean – and _damn_ Andrew for knowing that, _damn_ Andrew for it actually working. Andrew is relentless though, and Steven picks up his phone and fiddles with it pointlessly, but he can still tell Andrew is looking. The screech of his highlighter on the page is gone, and he sees Andrew is unmoving in his peripheral.

“STOP looking at me like that,” he giggles a little, still staring at his phone for no reason.

“Not until you tell me what you did,”

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” Steven says much too smugly, and now Andrew knows he’s being a literalist. “Sort of,” Sort of. “I did something, okay, yeah-“ he sets his phone down and looks at Andrew in the eye, but he looks unbelievably happy, and excited about it, that Andrew leans back in his chair and scrutinizes his face for a few silent moments.

“So it’s a good thing,” Andrew begins. “No wait-“ shakes his head. “Don’t answer that, you always think it’s a good thing.” Now he’s smiling back at Steven, because honestly? He thinks it’s adorable that Steven does that – always sees the opportunity for a good time in any situation, any outcome. He racks his brain for what it could be – knows it’s pointless, he’d never be able to guess – but he still does it anyway.

Eventually, he puffs out a long sigh and leans forward.

“Alright, what is it –“ and he knows it’s been long enough and Steven’s been expecting him to react _somehow_ and Andrew’s given him nothing so that Steven’s going to crack and tell him – too impatient for his own good. Andrew is smiling even through his exhaustion.

“Okay so I know it’s literally like – uhh, a month early,” and he leans down into his backpack and pulls out a carefully wrapped  package, and Andrew immediately gets it.

“You got me a birthday present-“ Steven nods, enthusiastically. “A _month_ too soon,” He sounds more disbelieving than he means to, than he feels – because really this is not at all surprising, but he’s smiling so much and he asks Steven what it is that he got him. Steven gives him that no-shit look he always gives him, laced with fondness and bemusement, whenever Andrew asks for something that is objectively impossible. Objectively, always meaning, in Steven’s world of objectives. Because it is inconceivable that Steven will tell him what his gift is, when it’s right there for Andrew to unwrap.

It’s a large dinosaur onesie, which is simultaneously the best crack gift and the worst crack gift he could ever receive. Because it’s soft and it’s funny and he loves it and it’s from Steven so he loves it even more so it’s not even like – a gag present, in a way, it’s the gourmet birthday digs, the real deal – which he so desperately wants Steven to know, so he tells him.

“I know you got this as a half-joke because we were talking about it weeks ago-“ (he notices how Steven’s eyebrows shoot up at that, at Andrew even remembering) “-but this is literally the best gift you could have possibly given me,” he looks up at Steven as he says this, still holding the soft fabric between his hands, and he’s so genuine about it that something snaps with urgency in Steven and he feels like he’s slowly going mad, maybe. He smiles at Andrew warmly.

“I hope you like it? I’m glad you said that, I’m glad you do- I”

“Are you kidding. Steven this is practical, and funny, and adorable, simultaneously. This is the best birthday present I’ve ever had, and it’s a Month early so it gets clout for the surprise and-“ he stops himself there because he knows what he wants to say but he doesn’t know if it’s appropriate to say it – it’s not that big a deal too, they’re friends and it’s obviously true, between them – that they love each other. But something holds him back from saying it, again. He can’t understand. “Thank you. Really, I’m never going to take this off.” Steven scrunches up his nose at that, only half joking his disgust.

“Please don’t, though – your shower gel smells good,” and he opens his mouth to say something else, to take it back – maybe, because he only just realises what he’s said and Andrew is staring at him with raised eyebrows, folding the onesie back into its box and huffing out a soft laugh as he puts it in his bag.

“That’s.... quite something,” That’s gay, he’d say – but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. He’s not straight – is he. He can’t convincingly say that to himself, it feels like a gigantic lie. But he doesn’t know what he is either – or why he thinks he is. So he keeps the comment to himself and grabs his highlighter again.

The moment, surprisingly, isn’t awkward – Steven kicks him playfully under the table and Andrew gives him dirty looks that might have been slightly threatening if he wasn’t so damn smiley and Andrew says.

“Yeah, I know, I smell too good all the time to risk it – even for this incredible gift,” and Steven shoves his head into the table because really, Andrew, you can’t say shit like that – but what comes out of his mouth instead is: “You’re insufferable but you’re great,” and it’s true enough that Steven’s okay with it. With saying it.

“Why’d you get it so soon?” Andrew asks, not looking up from his book, after a while. Steven shrugs, which is dumb, he knows, since Andrew’s not looking – even though Andrew knows that he’s shrugged, like he always knows.

“If I waited until May, I might’ve splurged the money on something useless because you know how I am,” Andrew breathes out a chuckle at that, still focused on his textbook. “And I was too impatient to get it now and not give it to you right away- thus,”

“Thus, what happened here, on this very eve.” Andrew exaggerates an accent, and Steven has to chuckle into his hands from surprise. _They’re in the library_ , as Andrew said – _after all_ , mockingly shushing Steven’s silent giggling.

 

-

**[12:14pm] big macnyckyj** : _LOOK AT THIS SHIT, STEVEN_ [Image_Attached]

Steven unlocks the screen, opens up the message, clicks on the picture. It’s a tabby cat. It’s a fucking tabby cat, and Andrew is posing in front of her, taking a fucking selfie with the cat – the tabby cat. Steven wasn’t ready for this. Steven didn’t know what to expect from the attached image, but it was not this. Not this at fucking all. He was not okay. Andrew was.... how to put it. Andrew was a good looking guy. And Steven’s best friend. He stared at the picture, unblinking, until his vision started to get murky. This is fine – this was fine. He could appreciate an attractive person, even if that person was his best friend. Didn’t mean anything. Not at all. He kept looking at the photo, the cat had beautiful eyes and a beautiful face and beautiful fat paws and Steven loved cats so fucking much.

His gaze kept flickering to the left of the photo, the half of the image that Andrew’s face took up. His face was lit up with so much joy, and it honestly shocked Steven how much this affected his emotions. How much Andrew interacting with animals always affected his emotions. It was strange and inexplicable and too much. He thought he might cry. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

 **[12:20pm]Truffles on Pizza** : _i swear this almost made me cry holy shit_

He felt his fingers typing out the ‘i love you’ and he hovered over the send button, before thinking it over and erasing it. Now it felt too deliberate. He wishes he’d erased the whole sentence and wrote something else – then he could at least pretend he wasns’t shying away from using that word. Why was it so? Weird to say it to him? Steven loved all his friends, and they knew it. He’d said I love you to Andrew too – thinly veiled as a casual joking remark or other such useless things but, it was out there. For some reason it never organically came out of him when it was just that, by itself. When it meant what it meant.

 **[12:26pm] big macnyckyj:** _:’) Don’t Cry for me, Steventina_

Steven stared at the message and straight up nearly sobbed. It was an Evita reference, Andrew was Evita referencing, and it was funny, and it was personal, and it was – for some reason, wholly stifling for Steven, he felt like there was something pulsing tightly at his lungs, at his heartbeat. He let it hang, went to shower, to eat dinner. Did not think about it at all.

 

-

 

It’s the weekend and Andrew said he’d go out with Eugene and Quinta and various other people from his dorm floor, people that Steven liked a lot (Keith had a constant smile on his face – he and his girlfriend Becky where absolutely adorable, matched probably only by Ned and Ariel who were literally a disney couple), and Steven was totally happy that Andrew was going out, having fun. He actually, sincerely was. He’d go with them except he’s terrifically sick, and he kind of wants to curl up in his blankets forever, live in that warmth. Someone calls him and he turns his phone to see who it is – fully intending to hang up except; it’s Andrew.

“Hey,” he picks up, and sounds terrible – he knows, and it would be funny since you can tell he has a runny nose just from that one greeting, even though Hey as a word has no M or N. It really would be funny. He sneezes.

“Ah, yeesh, okay dude – you don’t sound too great,” Andrew’s voice was the calming presence Steven didn’t know he needed, closing his eyes and letting himself ignore the muscle pain and the inexorable urge to sneeze at all times.

“Mmm, very observant,” illness brings out his sarcasm, and Andrew laughs.

“You could say you... put the ‘ill’ in ilnyckyj,” he says and waits for it to land. Steven would’ve laughed, under normal circumstances, but he feels miserable so he just stares deadpan, blankly forward, hoping his reaction translates somehow through the phone. Because it’s Andrew, it does. “Okay – you didn’t like that one, that’s fine, I’m not hurt,”  Steven can hear the smile in his voice, and can’t help but smile as well.

“My name’s not even Ilnyckyj,” he manages, and it’s hoarse and it’s dying – and Steven can almost hear Andrew wincing. But now his brain is stuck on this phrase, on what he’s just said – and he’s imagining the millions of ways it could go – the millions of reasons why he would be an Ilnyckyj. And no- no, Nope, he doesn’t go down that path, doesn’t want to. He’s too sick to think rationally, he shouldn’t have this to cope with. Not this too. So he doesn’t. Andrew’s voice is so much gentler when he next speaks – like if he speaks too loud he might shatter something delicate.

“Alright, okay buddy – do you need us to bring you something? Do you want us to bring you some soup? Anything?” And Steven knows he means it, knows they all do – he loves his friends, his newfound little family, but he wouldn’t make them do that, wouldn’t dream of it, so he shakes his head. That makes him chuckle, because he realises a second too late that Andrew can’t actually see him shaking his head over the phone, but he sighs in a slight of relief at hearing Steven laugh a bit.

“No, no it’s fine – you guys should go out, enjoy yourselves. It’s my turn to gramp out tonight –“ all his nasal consonants are blocked, and it’s frustrating, and annoying, and his vision is watery and the lights are too bright at all times – but Andrew finds the consonants adorable, and chastises himself mentally for the thought.

“Are you sure? You know it’s literally not a burden, or any trouble, right? We’d have fun either way,” Steven might actually cry – he’s too sensitive now, what with the pain and the- the everything. And Andrew is being so good, so unbelievably good, as he always fucking is. He means it too, Steven knows it and that somehow makes it worse, or better. He’s not sure anymore.

“No, dude –“ he has to cough a bit. “I don’t wanna contaminate any of you guys anyway,” he laughs here, and it’s real, not forced, which makes Andrew feel a little better. He whispers a ‘ _you wouldn’t’_ even though he knows what Steven said was mostly joking, but still. “Say hi to the gang for me, though,” Steven smiles for real, thinking of Andrew, and his friends, worrying about him. He loves them all too much. “I love you all too much.” He hears himself say it, and doesn’t worry because he’s too doped up on his fever and the fact that his Ms sound like Bs, which is insanely funny, and he giggles. He hears Andrew exhale.

“So do we, Steven. Take care of yourself, watch the force awakens, eat some soup, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I will! I’ve never seen the force awakens that might... actually be-“ but he doesn’t get to finish before he hears Andrew scream _WHAT_ , mercilessly having removed the receiver from his mouth – but Steven still hears it and knows it’d been loud. Andrew’s mouth is back on the receiver.

“You haven’t? You haven’t seen the force awakens?”

“Uhh- No, that’s. What I just said?” Steven is confused, but he finds Andrew adorable anyway.

“Okay, screw everything else, I’m coming over, we’re watching the force awakens,”

“Andrew – what difference does it make, I was going to watch it anyway,”

“It’s the first time you’re seeing it, Steven! That’s the difference. It was so good and it was the first installment in the new trilogy – and I get the chance to see your first reaction to it? Yes thank you,”

“Andrew, andrew – no, No! You’re supposed to go out and have fun, with your friends-“

“I’m not supposed to do anything, Steven. I’m going to stay in, and have fun with my friend – it’s the same thing to me, anyway – we are NOT going to argue about this. I’ll be there in like ten minutes, bye.” Steven couldn’t muster up the words to interrupt him, interject and insist that No, no he should go out with his friends who are Healthy and ready to have a fun time, and not have to stick behind with the sick guy. He feels a little bad now, mostly because he’s so unfuckingbelievably relieved that Andrew is coming over, that he’s going to spend this awful night watching a movie Andrew’s excited about, with Andrew. He keeps the phone by his ear for a few minutes, just listening to the routine beeping of the dial tone.

By the time Andrew shows up, Steven’s a little way past drowsy and drags himself to answer the doorbell almost as if on autopilot. Andrew’s brought popcorn and the force awakens _on DVD_ , of all things, and Steven stares at him at his threshold, bag of snacks and his hopeful, beautiful face smiling in that delightful way he always does and starts to laugh, albeit lightly. It makes him cough a bit, which Steven thinks is gross and apologises for but Andrew waves a dismissive hand at him and shoos him to the sofa, tells him he’ll make him herbal tea.

“I know popcorn isn’t exactly good for you physically right now –“ he stops what he’s doing and turns around to look at Steven with a dead serious look on his face. “But it’s good for you spiritually, and that’s what matters,” and Steven is delirious because, fuck, he loves Andrew so much. He’d do anything for him. He stops laughing. The ball has dropped. Andrew is none the wiser, shuffling in with their tea, putting the disc to play.

The opening credits roll and they sit there, illuminated by nothing but the screen and Steven gulps, looks sideways at Andrew’s face framed by the blue-yellow light of the computer and he thinks to himself, _fuck, I really am in love with you_. _Aren’t I?_

Andrew drapes an arm around Steven, protectively, lovingly – _like a mother, or a brother_ , Steven supplies unhelpfully, trying his damnedest to rewind, to go back, to do anything but have that realisation. Andrew pulls him instinctively closer, and Steven shuffles into him and his warmth, because that’s all he can do now. Because he really is fucked, because the person he loves most in the world absolutely does not reciprocate, not in _that_ way – at least; at least he gets to cherish the moments he does get. The ones like this. He falls asleep halfway through the movie, and Andrew notices but doesn’t wake him up. He stays there, stays still with Steven sleeping on his chest until the credits roll, shuts the laptop entirely, and falls asleep on the sofa with Steven.

 

-

 

It’s spring, truly spring, and Steven has never been happier about it. The campus is colourful beyond imagining, flowers blooming everywhere, out of everywhere, and they’re headed to the roller rink, Andrew and Steven and Quinta and Eugene and everyone – and it feels good. It feels good to be with friends, to smell honeysuckle in the air and to just smile because it’s almost the end of the semester and the year and then one long breath, an exhale of rest until they have to pick it back up again. Andrew’s birthday passed and – he said he wanted to keep it understated, not make a fuss, but Steven always knows what to do, and he always knows better – and they made him a cake and surprised him at Steven’s apartment, and Andrew had been smiling so much he felt like he’d cracked laughter lines prematurely. He said so, to Steven, and Steven had pretended to observe his face with great thoroughness before humming and saying “Just as I thought... you’re an old man, now,” which wasn’t really that funny except to them in that moment, because it was their thing – Andrew was the old man, or the grandpa, and sometimes Steven was the grandma because – well, he kind of acted like Andrew’s grandmother at times, and it was adorable – and it made them crack up and they wouldn’t look too much into it. Steven certainly tried not to. He was happy being friends wih Andrew, that’s all that mattered.

Some Kylie Minogue song is playing relentlessly loud over the speakers, and Quinta’s raising her eyebrows and laughing, already getting into the groove, Eugene doing body rolls behind her, because, of course he would. Zach has never skated before and he kept falling until Eugene sighed, in mock-dejection and took it upon himself to protect Zach from his very own self. They’re going around the rink now, holding hands – with the soft strobe lights casting phantom glows around the whole room and- and Steven has to admit, it’s crazy romantic. Keith wolf whistles at Eugene and Zach as they pass him, and Zach flips him off – mostly as a joke – but he shouldn’t, loses balance and nearly falls, and Eugene has to catch him mid stride. They’re fun to watch, and a little bit painful too. It’s so obvious – sometimes, to everyone else and. And not to them which is, it’s kind of sad, Steven thinks. Living in that much commiseration when even the smallest ounce of communicating might solve their pining in a second.

To no one’s surprise Quinta and Eugene are the most graceful of the bunch in the rink, but Andrew can hold his own, and he even boldens enough to dance a little more dangerously to the songs playing overhead. Steven is smitten, and he thinks – even if nothing comes of it, which nothing will, because there’s nothing there except from his own stupid feelings – this is worth it. He looks at Andrew and the way he tries to moonwalk in his four-wheeler skates, singing offkey, dramatically, at Steven, and he’s content to stay there, just like that. Nothing more than what they already are. Steven is truly, authentically happy.

He rolls around the rink on his own entirely, a few times. He finds the repetitive glide calming, a serenity he needed without knowing. He’s a decent skater - albeit notoriously clumsy as a person in general, and Andrew is there when he’s about to fall, just to make sure he doesn’t. That’s a special brand of irony. Andrew making sure Steven doesn’t fall. _Good one, universe_.

 

-

 

The sun has already set when they decide to head back home from their day out altogether, and Andrew has a car, so he offers anyone a ride. Steven is obviously shotgun, and Zach almost spoke up to take up the offer but Eugene gave his hand a squeeze – and they were still holding hands, which made Steven extremely happy if not also distantly jealous – and Zach kept his mouth shut and said he’d leave with Becky’s car. Steven didn’t think too much of it, but the way Andrew looked at Eugene like he was confused, left Steven with an aftertaste of concern as he took his seat in the car. Andrew seemed fine, though, so he decided not to read too much into it – he’d been doing that lately. Way too much of it.

Halfway through the city, back to their respective homes, Andrew cleared his throat.

“Do you wanna just. Go get ice cream, or something?” he sounded casual, too casual. Like he was forcing it, for some reason. Steven’s blood pounded in his ears, and he tried to calm himself with rationalisations.

“Yeah! That honestly sounds. Amazing. A great idea.”

They drove around looking for ice cream vendors – the kind that sell soft-serve by the side of the road – they must’ve driven in circles at least fifteen times until Andrew took a different turn in a leap of faith and they found themselves in front of a small slushie truck.

They ended up getting the purple and the blue, interchangeably tasting from each other’s slushie, laughing about how their tongues were coloured, adrenaline and sugar and being with each other pulsing energy through their bloodstreams. They walked around the area, night having fallen, and Steven finally let himself sit onto the curb, sinking in on himself with a sated kind of exhaustion. Andrew dropped to a seat next to him, sighing as the tension left his limbs, and he kind of had to laugh at that. He really was an old man sometimes. He’d said that out loud, without meaning to, and Steven found it so abrupt and so perfectly timed that he laughed sharply, and quickly. It was quiet and they didn’t have to talk, sipping absently on their slushies, the noise of the ice swirling in the paper cup almost ambient mixed with the crickets and the way the lampposts shone on the pavement.

Steven kicked his legs out, stretching them as the joints cracked, and he groaned in delight and in slight agony – Andrew had to laugh at him. He watched him a bit, the way he chewed without thinking about it on his straw, pressing down on each knee and waiting for more bones to crack. He looked ethereal, almost, in this sickly white light of the lamppost. The light itself may have been horrendous but – Steven looked like he was kissed by the moon all over. Silver, and golden, and some lilac where the light fell right. Andrew had stopped sipping his drink. Steven had stopped moving, chewing on his straw. They were just looking at each other.

Andrew gulped for a moment, and he thought he saw something in Steven’s eyes – like they were searching his for something too. Steven faced away, bending one leg at the knee and fixing the sock, casually. And it was in that action that Andrew saw it. The normalcy of Steven, just existing, just being Steven.The way the light on his profile made that little mole on the bridge of his nose stand out and – how Steven sometimes muttered incoherent things under his breath when he was doing some repetitive physical action, and then Steven looked up at the sky and Andrew dwelled just a bit on his eyes and he realised. He knew.

Andrew took in as much air as he could at once – overwhelmed and at the same time completely at peace. He knew all along, of course. But it’s different to know intrinsically and it’s different to know cerebrally.

Now he knew both ways. Steven Lim was the love of his life.

Steven looked back at him, and his neutral expression turned into a smile, laced with concern.

“What’s the matter?”

_I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you._

“Nothing, guess the roller skating caught up to me. We should head back, right?”

Steven studied his face for an endless while. And then he nodded.

 

-

 

When Andrew’s back in his house – in his room, he texts Steven to tell him he got home safe – because that’s what they do. That’s what they always do. He can see the text Steven sent him not too long ago, even though he was the one who drove him home, even though he literally saw him enter the apartment – Steven still texted him, because it’s what they do.

 **[10:46pm]Truffles on Pizza** : _home safe woot woot!_

He’d even included a blue slushie emoji,because he could and – honestly, Andrew was convinced this emoji didn’t exist at all, and Steven was just that type of emoji wizard and he pulled it out of a hat or his own ass to send it because no way did something that specific exist. He smiled at his screen again and typed out the text.

 **[11:00pm] i love you so much it hurts:** _Got home safely!_

He barely had time after he hit send, the reply was instantaneous.

 **Truffles on Pizza _:_** _thank god i thought u were mauled by wolves rip andrew_

Andrew stared at the words on the screen, and wondered truly, deeply – how could something so _infuriatingly simple_ – so, at its basis, friendly and casual – make him want to take his skin off and remain a pile of untouched bones. _How_. He passed a thumb over the text, inadvertently scrolling upwards in their chat. He’d been trying to what? Caress the text? God, he was so laughable. He let the contact name he’d chosen for Steven sink in a bit more. It made him smile, a bit, but it felt wrong now. It felt – god, he was so dramatic, he knew. But it was from before. It was from before.

He should just rename him Steven, in his phone. That’s safe. There’s no expectations in that – there’s no. _Fuck_. He sits on his bed, flops backwards and exhales. Guess there’s no doubt he’s not straight now. The thought strikes him so suddenly and it’s so odd and so peculiarly and uselessly unimportant to him, now, after all these months of worrying over this – that he can’t help but fucking laugh. _Yeah, no shit, he’s not straight. Could’ve figured that out earlier, without having to go and fall in love with his best friend_. There’s no point in berating himself, he knows, but he feels like he owes it – somehow – to the universe. Maybe, to Steven.

On a whim, he grabs his phone and goes to the contact settings to change Steven’s name. He tries out two different ones until he settles. He settles on one and he doesn’t mind that it’s dangerous, it’s the truth, and it’s what it is. He snorts at himself – _name him “Steven”_ – as if he would. He doesn’t care if he suffers and loves and hurts, a million lives over. He will not let himself sacrifice the verity of his feelings. Not to lie to himself, not to lie to anyone.

 **[11:05pm] i love you so much it hurts:** _No wolves, unfortunately._

 **who else but you:** _just one very scary red riding hood?_

Andrew drags his hand down his face and laughs. Of course Steven would.

 **i love you so much it hurts:** _Ha-ha. You should sleep, you seemed like you were exhausted, earlier._

Earlier when I was looking at you and having the biggest internal breakdown of my life; he means.

 **who else but you:** _honestly???? so did u dude_

 **who else but you:** _sweet dreams 4 a sweet boy_

 **who else but you _:_** _goodnight!!_

Andrew feels near-sick. He stares at the keyboard laying blank before him. Thinks of everything at once.

 **i love you so much it hurts:** _Goodnight, Steven_

He shuts his phone and flings it on his bedside table. He doesn’t want to look at it anymore. His chest hurts and he wishes he was drunk so he could throw up and blame it on that and just be okay again.

To just be Andrew. For Steven to just be Steven.

-

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> \- this will be a two-parter!  
> \- the working title of this work was 'another day another fucking term paper' and if that isn't the mood idk what is  
> \- this is my only work that i did with an outline first, because it is so inconceivably big and i wanted, initially, to crank it all out in one huge chapter but that didn't work because i'm exhAUSTED but. there's an outline. I know what's going to happen next, everything is calculated i'm not just fucking about this time which is scary and cool  
> \- I wrote this part and then at the end i realised. None of the juicy bits have even actually happened yet.  
> \- irrelevant to this fic but worth-it-unsolved on tumblr made a fucking edit of my 'i need that sugar sweet' fic and i'm in tears, in love tears


End file.
